Chapter 3: The Gala of Glass
The Grand Ballroom of the St. Jude administrative palace was a vision of historical excess. Thousands of white orchids hung from the vaulted ceilings, their scent fighting the heavy aroma of vintage champagne and perfume. The wealthy, the powerful, and the influential of the country were gathered in their finest evening wear, their conversations a rhythmic hum of asset acquisition, political favors, and social posturing.
Arthur stood near the service entrance, wearing a rental tuxedo that was slightly too large in the shoulders. He had volunteered to work the event as a catering assistant—a move that allowed him to observe the gathering without drawing suspicion. To the guests, he was just a tray with legs, a part of the background scenery designed to keep their crystal flutes full.
At the center of the room stood Julian Montgomery and his father, Sir Richard Montgomery. Sir Richard was a imposing man with a silver beard and the posture of someone who owned cities. Julian was in his element, holding court with the university’s Chancellor, Dr. Archibald, and several key members of the Board of Governors.
"The Montgomery Group is fully prepared to match any donation the Swiss consortium offers," Sir Richard was saying, his voice booming with corporate confidence. "But we expect the new engineering wing to bear our name. It’s only fitting, given our family’s long-standing support of St. Jude."
"Of course, Sir Richard," Chancellor Archibald beamed, his posture slightly stooped in the presence of such immense liquid capital. "Your generosity is legendary. We are merely waiting for the consortium’s representative to arrive. They indicated they would make their presence known at precisely nine o'clock."
Julian’s eyes scanned the room, his gaze landing on Arthur, who was currently clearing empty plates from a nearby table. A vicious, alcohol-fueled grin spread across Julian’s face. He whispered something to his father, who glanced at Arthur with an expression of mild amusement, then nodded.
"Chancellor," Julian said loudly, intentionally drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd. "Before the big guests arrive, I think we have a small administrative issue to handle. It seems the catering staff is letting charity cases handle the vintage selection. I believe that young man over there just dropped a bottle of our family’s private vintage in the back corridor."
The room went quiet. Heads turned toward Arthur, who remained still, a dirty salad plate in his hand.
Chancellor Archibald’s face darkened. "Is this true? Who allowed a scholarship worker near the reserve?"
Julian stepped forward, his posture radiating a smug, triumphant superiority. "He’s been a problem all semester, Chancellor. His name is Arthur. He has no respect for the history of this school, no understanding of the culture, and clearly, no ability to handle high-value assets. I think it’s time he’s escorted off the property. Permanent termination of his enrollment would be a good start."
Chloe Laurent, standing near the balcony, moved to step forward, her face tight with anger, but she stopped when she saw Arthur’s expression.
Arthur wasn't looking at the floor. He wasn't trembling. He slowly set the salad plate down on a service tray. He looked at Julian, then at the Chancellor, and then at the large digital clock on the wall.
08:59:55
08:59:58
09:00:00
The massive oak doors of the ballroom didn't burst open. Instead, a quiet, profound stillness fell over the room as the main entrance opened, and a man in a crisp, charcoal-grey suit walked in. He didn't look like a guest; he looked like an executive officer executing a hostile takeover. It was Vance.
Behind him came two associates carrying leather briefcases bearing the gold-embossed seal of the Sterling Global Trust.
Chancellor Archibald gasped, instantly smoothing his lapels and stepping away from Sir Richard. "The consortium... they’ve arrived."
Vance didn't look at the Chancellor. He walked directly down the center of the ballroom, his eyes locked on a specific location. The crowd parted for him, the wealth in the room instinctively recognizing a higher tier of power.
Julian smirked, stepping into Vance’s path. "Welcome, sir. I’m Julian Montgomery. My father and I were just discussing the new development project—"
Vance didn't even blink. He walked right past Julian as if the young man were made of glass, stopping exactly three feet in front of Arthur, who was still standing by the catering tray.
May you like
Vance stopped, closed his feet, and bowed deeply from the waist—a formal, absolute gesture of feudal deference that stunned the entire room into a state of breathlessness.
"Master Arthur," Vance said, his voice echoing through the silent hall with the clarity of a bell. "The transition is complete. The board has ratified your signatures. You are now the sole owner of St. Jude University and all its associated corporate holdings. Your grandfather sends his regards."
